


Delivery Guy

by rinverse



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Crack, Jae-ha is crushing harder than a 13-year-old girl, Kija has a PhD in adorable, M/M, Pining, Silly, also he's dumb as a rock and as persistent as gum stuck to your shoe, he doesn't need to work out cause he's always carrying all the shit Jae-ha orders, this fic is a joke but so is Jae-ha's professionalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinverse/pseuds/rinverse
Summary: Every week, Kija is scheduled to make deliveries to the hipster coffee shop across town. Every week, Jae-ha orders more supplies even though he has already accumulated enough to last them during an apocalypse. It started as an innocent encounter, but now Kija keeps being given that same address every time and Jae-ha keeps ordering more than he should and dropping — accidentally, of course — his pen in the delivery boy’s presence.But for all of Jae-ha’s charm, who would have thought that Kija would be so immune to his attempts at asking him out? Jae-ha certainly hadn’t, though he did like a challenge.——(aka that crackpot Coffee Shop AU that should have never been written)
Relationships: Jae-Ha/Kija (Akatsuki no Yona)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81





	Delivery Guy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the single most questionable fic that I've written before, for no reason other than it being completely outside of my usual style of writing :)

The general agreement amongst people of all ages and demographics seemed to be one: Monday was the worst day of the week.

Jae-ha himself had long since harboured a special brand of animosity for Mondays — from his high-school years when he’d much rathered sleep in, to his college days when he’d been nursing hangovers and getting rid of the foul aftertaste of cheap booze. To add insult to injury, Mondays were generally unlucky. Whenever something bad happened, it was always on a Monday and Jae-ha would find himself nodding sympathetically to others’ troubles and murmuring the same three words in agreement, one of them repeated: “Monday, dude. _Monday_.” 

But that had been then. Mondays were something to look forward to now, in all of their bird-chirping, sun-is-always-shining glory. Jae-ha even sang underneath his breath these days, much to the other barista’s annoyance and his own delight. One would indeed think only magic, or a strong concussion, could have brought on such a change.

Certainly, no one would have expected it to be the doing of the poor, unsuspecting, barely 5-foot-8 delivery guy who arrived between 9.30 and 11 every Monday morning.

Jae-ha hummed against the faint string of jazz coming in from the speakers. He’d always thought good music to be essential for a coffee shop experience. And today, as the autumn wind jostled the reddened leaves still clinging to the branches, he felt it was time for jazz — tender, sweet, and warm like a cup of hot cocoa. Or strong coffee. He didn’t drink-shame, always had been a pick-your-poison kind of guy.

The HappyHungry Café, as Jae-ha had called it once he’d become its owner, had quickly become the talk of town over the past few months. Not because it was anything grand — in fact, it was less than half of a usual Starbucks — or because it was on one of Kuuto’s main streets, but because it had character. Reviewers had called it “hip” and “trendy” but they’d also only referred to Jae-ha as the “charming owner”, so he knew they hadn’t done him or the café the full extent of justice they were due.

For Jae-ha, the coffee shop was a hidden gem. The type of place you’d stubble into for the looks, stay for the good coffee, and keep coming back for the atmosphere.

Today, Jae-ha had only just put on his apron when the other barista, a college kid named Yoon, arrived to work. He looked about ten shades too red in the face and a dozen ways already done with the day before it had even begun.

“It’s Monday,” Jae-ha announced happily by way of greeting. 

“Believe me, I _know_ ,” the other barista grumbled. “It’s not a solar eclipse, Jae-ha, a new Monday happens every seven days.”

Sure, Yoon was rough around the edges and he seemed to constantly forget that Jae-ha was actually his boss. But for what it was worth, he was a hard-worker. Most importantly, he’d begun stress-baking all sorts of goods for the café so Jae-ha was allowed no complaints.

“It’s what happens on a Monday that counts,” Jae-ha said.

Yoon sighed, rolled his eyes skyward. “Put that in a frame, why don’t you? I’m sure the poor delivery guy will be delighted to know that tormenting him is the highlight of your week.”

Of course, the café had attracted a lot of regulars, any one of which Jae-ha could have found interesting but not nearly as much as Delivery Guy. Jae-ha was always nothing but friendly charm and professionalism with everyone who wasn't that one particular specimen of gene evolution.

There was the pair of high-school students, the sweet Yona and the grumpy Hak, whom Jae-ha had bet would become a couple by the end of the school year and Yoon had argued were both too dense to make a move for the next century and a half. They usually arrived in the afternoons to work on their homework, though it usually resulted in Hak taste-testing Yoon’s new culinary experiments and Yona doodling in the margins of her notebook.

Shin-ah, another regular, usually sat by the window and worked on his game design coursework and barely even moved or talked when his projects were due soon, only responding if Jae-ha went over to ask if he was okay or if he needed something. During exams, he usually looked like he was on the edge of a breakdown, poor thing, so Jae-ha would drop off free cookies when Yoon wasn’t paying attention. Shin-ah was usually followed by Zeno — an odd kid, Jae-ha had to admit, that lacked what was necessary to sit still for more than ten minutes at a time and often pestered Yoon from over the counter. Hence why Zeno was not, under any circumstances, allowed caffeine. Jae-ha was pretty sure he’d made that corporate policy by now.

While it was true that they had all quickly grown on him, seeing Delivery Guy cross the premises of his coffee shop had left Jae-ha at a loss of both words and brain cells.

That first time Jae-ha had seen him, over a month ago now, Delivery Guy had been running later than the company had said. Though Jae-ha was not the type of customer to let that slide, all complaints he’d had on his mind had vanished when he’d seen the absolute sculpture of a man that had arrived.

True enough, the guy’s hat had been pushed too far down and his uniform had been too baggy. But Jae-ha had never needed much to admit a fact when he came across one: the guy was handsome.

But handsome didn’t quite cut it. No, if anything, he was the kind of handsome that explained why cavemen had begun chiseling on walls. Why Michelangelo had bothered with his David and the ancient Greeks with the half-naked sculptures of their gods. So, you see, in theory one would understand Jae-ha’s predicament, though the response he’d come up with was left open for much debate. 

“Morning.” Delivery Guy had glanced down his sheet, then back up. “Jae-ha from the HappyHungry Café, right?”

“The one and only,” the owner in question had said with his most charming smile. Though why he’d seemed to think that line could be property of anyone other than James Bond himself was indeed a mystery — Jae-ha owned a small café and a lot of tight trousers, not a sports car.

“I’m with _Dragon Speed Deliveries_ ,” the guy had said. “Thank you for your patience today. I’m afraid there was a mix-up with the addresses.”

But Jae-ha hadn’t been at all bothered. “It happens to the very best of us, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, well, it was a one-off. Could you sign this, please?” Delivery Guy had pushed a pen towards Jae-ha expectantly.

“Anything for you,” Jae-ha’d answered and pretended, for a hot second that had turned into a lukewarm minute, to scan the paper. “Where?”

Delivery Guy hadn’t bothered with a verbal answer. He’d pointed at the giant “SIGN HERE” lettering which Jae-ha had been ignoring all along.

“Oh, silly me,” he’d said and looked Delivery Guy up and down with what he’d thought was confidence like Jae-ha had been none other than Buzz Aldrin and he’d just gotten back from the moon. “I must have gotten distracted.”

Delivery Guy had already looked about five degrees south of done and a dozen shades of to-hell-with-this-job. But Jae-ha hadn’t even started, no. He liked a mission. And in the flash of a truly genius idea, he’d casually let the pen slip from between his fingers and left it to gravity to do its job.

“ _Oops_ ,” he’d said lazily and bent to pick the pen up, his good side on display. “My bad.”

In his best attempt to call attention to what was without a doubt his most well-rounded asset, Jae-ha’d folded over, a true Rivaldo during the World Cup. Seductive though he should have been, Jae-ha had forgotten one important thing. He was a late-20s man now and his back would not cooperate in Jae-ha’s little games as it once used to.

The _pop_ as his back had cracked paled in comparison only to the sound of a rocket launching off to space. It had been _loud_. Like the cork of a champagne bottle to commemorate his embarrassment in the passages of time eternal. Damned bones, to have done him dirty like this. In a moment of catastrophic cognitive dissonance, Jae-ha could have sworn he’d heard his brain misfire.

“Sir, are you okay?” Delivery Guy had asked after Jae-ha’d failed to raise himself back up.

“Never better,” Jae-ha’d croaked in return.

There was no wound to a man’s pride quite like the utter failure at seduction and Jae-ha had just suffered it for the very first time. Disaster, before he’d even tried!

But he’d pushed through, raised himself back up with another tiny _pop_ , a smile, and a sweep of the hair away from his eyes. He’d just hoped his glasses weren’t askew. “I’m afraid I may have broken your pen.”

“It looks just fine, sir.”

“You know, I don’t think it does. Do you have another—?”

“No.”

“Then, maybe I do—”

“ _Sir_ , this is my first delivery for the day and I have about five more addresses to cover within the hour,” Delivery Guy had said then. “Could you please just sign the paper?”

And like a middle-aged suburban mom listening to the second telecommercial on kitchen gadgets in a roll, Jae-ha had been sold. Take-his-money-and-pick-a-kidney kind of sold. Certainly, any guy who could talk to him that way was the type of guy for him.

It was no secret that Jae-ha had always liked his coffee the way he’d liked his men: hot, strong, and first thing in the morning. Luckily for him, Delivery Guy had already been the first two. Jae-ha only needed a little work on the latter. His plan had been simple but effective: keep placing more orders for supplies, make sure the delivery company remains the same and the delivery day is set to Monday.

“Jae-ha,” Yoon had said after seeing the order confirmation on their email account that very same day, “why do we need more coffee beans when we’ve just had our monthly delivered?”

“What’s a coffee shop without its coffee beans, Yoon?” Jae-ha had said wisely. “I do as the customers demand of me.”

“But it’s not like we’ve had _more_ customers.”

“No, but we will be having more deliveries.”

Yoon had stared at him as though Jae-ha’d been the dumbest son of a gun to ever breathe air. He’d not been entirely wrong to do so. Because every week, Jae-ha would make a show out of himself, almost as if he was trying to outstupid himself every time. 

The second Monday that Delivery Guy had come, he’d already looked fed up just seeing Jae-ha’s face. But Jae-ha had settled for a subtler approach — no brute he.

“Let me make you coffee for the road,” Jae-ha had said. “It’s the least I can do after having you deliver all these heavy boxes.”

Delivery Guy had actually flushed. “It’s just my job.”

“I mean, it _is_ just his job,” Yoon had said loudly and earned himself some alone time cleaning the tables.

“Nonsense, it’ll only be a minute.” Jae-ha, thinking himself a smart one, had grabbed a cup and a marker. “Can I have your name?”

“This ain’t Starbucks, you donkey!” Yoon had yelled. Oh, how Jae-ha had wished he could have never hired him.

“Kija,” Delivery Guy had said. “It’s Kija.”

Jae-ha’s mind had roared like a commentator at a sports game: _And so he strikes again_! _Hurray_ , the imaginary crowd had screamed. Distracted, Jae-ha’d nearly pumped liquid soap instead of syrup in the cup. He’d given Kija his thank-you coffee and written his name with a smiley face next to it. The next time, with a wink, and the time after, with a heart. 

It was the little things that mattered, Jae-ha had always thought it so. And thus, as another testimony to just how romantic a man Jae-ha could be, he’d make sure Kija’s latte art would put the paintings hanging at the Louvre to shame. Only that whenever he’d tried to make as much as a leaf, he’d only ever successfully slapped a blob. But he slipped Yoon tips so the barista could secretly do Kija’s latte art as though it had been made by Jae-ha’s expert hand all along.

Love was in the details.

“Do you want to try the new coffee I’m adding to the menu?” Jae-ha’d asked the third Monday.

By then, Kija had accepted his fate that Monday mornings would involve the talkative owner of the HappyHungry coffee shop. “Why not?”

Yoon had just given him a mournful look. “Because he might poison you.”

Since then, Jae-ha had focused on making complicated concoctions that involved every syrup and drizzle on display, just so he could have more words to say to Kija. He’d take his time steaming the milk, pumping in syrup, or spooning on whipped cream. He’d drag it all out like ad-time on TV.

But a new strategy had made itself known soon enough, and so Jae-ha had gotten creative naming these concoctions.

Once, Jae-ha had smiled and geared up for a suggestive wink. “I call this one the _Hot and Single_ shot of espresso.”

“Isn’t that just a regular shot of espresso though?” Yoon had mumbled and earned himself an extra round of deep-cleaning the coffee machine after hours.

“Perhaps you have time to drink it here?” Jae-ha had suggested. “So, sit in or take me out?”

Yoon had _gagged_.

Kija’d just looked at him awkwardly. “Sorry, I’ve got other deliveries to make.”

It was fine. Jae-ha was no quitter. If he was good at one thing, it was being persistent. He knew how to use his looks, when to flash a smile, and what compliment to use. He knew what he wanted and how he wanted it. 

But today, two hours after Jae-ha had flipped the coffee shop’s sign to _Open_ , there was still no sign of the delivery truck.

“Do you think something happened to him?” Jae-ha asked after peering outside through the windows.

Yoon scoffed. “He probably managed to finally switch addresses so he’d never have to see you again.”

“Why? I’m always nice and I make him good coffee,” Jae-ha said. “The best coffee in town, in fact.”

“Last time, you served him a “ _I Like You a Latte_ ” with a slice of “nut-cream pie on the side”. Judging from how absolutely scandalised he looked, I’m pretty sure he’d rather have vending-machine coffee for the rest of his life than come back.”

There was no denying it: Jae-ha had indeed been feeling rather extra spicy that last Monday. He’d even left his number on the cup, though Kija had not called. If it had been someone like Yoon, he’d have likely already burned the cup and set fire to the gloves he’d touched it with. There was no way to know if he hadn’t.

Jae-ha frowned. “I’m doing my very best.”

“Our job is to make coffee, not flirt with every customer that walks in,” Yoon said and, before Jae-ha could protest, added, “And no, I don’t care to hear that you flirt only with him or that he’s not technically a customer.”

“You tell him to stop being so devastatingly handsome and I’ll stop flirting with him.”

“He’s our delivery guy!” Yoon said. “He’s only doing his job.”

“He’s been doing us extra service, if you ask me.”

Oh, if looks could kill, the one Yoon shot him could have dropped Jae-ha in a coffin then and there. In fact, it was the kind of look that could slap him so far into next week that his body would fly by Kija’s truck on the highway and make _Fast & Furious_ look like a lesson on safety driving.

“That’s because you’ve been stocking up for World War 3! Have you even _seen_ what an absolute mess the supply room has become?!”

Jae-ha supposed it was better not to mention that he’d started moving some of the boxes to the spare room in his apartment upstairs. Now simply did not seem the time.

“And what makes you think he’s even interested in guys?” the barista continued.

But Jae-ha was an expert on those things, at least. “Yoon, my child, no one who looks that handsome is ever _just_ straight.”

“Then why don’t you just ask him out properly already so that he’d reject you once and for all?”

Jae-ha seemed to think it over. “I don’t think anyone’s rejected me before.”

“Well, it’s time you learn the feeling that literally everyone else on this planet has experienced but you.”

It wasn’t that Jae-ha hadn’t been meaning to ask. It had always been on the tip of his tongue, but he liked to do these things in taste and Kija was making it difficult for him. If only Jae-ha could compliment the blue of Kija’s eyes without mentioning the words “sky” and “ocean”, or the pale-white of his hair without making it sound as if Kija’s mother had made love to a snowman. He could, of course, comment on the curve of those strong arms but suddenly, “You could squash a watermelon with those” didn’t seem to be very appropriate. He could ask if Kija worked out, he supposed. But Jae-ha strongly suspected that the boy would look him straight in the eye and deadpan that he didn’t need to because Jae-ha kept ordering a truck of elephants every week.

He’d think of something on the spot. Jae-ha was better off improvising anyway, that whole shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later attitude down pat. And if Plan A didn’t work out, Jae-ha would just have to resort to Plan B. Operation “Oh Sh** & Try Again”.

So when Kija arrived, Jae-ha grinned about as inconspicuously as a tarantula on cake and a wrecking ball through the ceiling. “Hello there,” he said.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Kija said. “My colleague forgot to load one of your boxes by accident so I had to go back for it.”

Yoon sighed. “You shouldn’t have bothered. Apparently, we now own Xing’s entire coffee export industry so what’s one box less.”

But Jae-ha, determined that today was finally the one Monday when Kija would not escape his charm, made shooing gestures to the other barista from below the counter. So far, Kija had evaded every attempt at flirting like a soldier marching through a minefield but what he didn’t know was that this time, Jae-ha had rigged the whole field.

“How’s your day looking?” Jae-ha asked innocently as he signed the delivery sheet. “Got a lot of orders?”

“Yes, I’m doing a full-shift today,” said Kija. “It’s reading week so I don’t have lectures.”

“Any plans after?”

“Not really, no.”

Jae-ha smiled. “You know, that works out perfectly because I was hoping that you’d let me take you out for dinner tonight.”

Some days, Jae-ha played it smooth. Other days, he played it like the house was on fire and he needed to get out. Today was both and neither. So when nothing happened, and after a second or so, nothing continued to happen, he wondered whether he shouldn’t have just gone for Plan C and dropped his pen again. It wasn’t too late. Technically.

“I don’t know,” Kija said nervously. But Jae-ha saw the blush beneath that hideous fashion travesty that people referred to as a cap. “It’s still reading week so I have exams to study for.”

Operation “Drop the Pen” it was then. Lord, may his back not crack this time.

“But you could ask again next week.”

Jae-ha felt himself smile. “Then I will.”

Maybe it wasn’t a _yes_ but it wasn’t a _no_ , and for all that it was worth, Jae-ha could live with that. To think that he hadn't even had to offer his back in sacrifice to the gods of love. There was indeed something magnificent about Mondays. And if, after Kija left, one of the customers had complained about being given his coffee too cold or Hak had eaten half the bakery, Jae-ha was deaf to all that was not the sound of trumpets in the air.

In fact, he hadn’t even heard when Yoon had snuck out and left the task of cleaning the coffee machines to Jae-ha. It wasn’t unpleasant per se, seeing the coffee shop at night. After dark, when the place looked like it could never harbour more person than one. When the streets outside were empty and the storm of people had passed until the next morning.

Jae-ha had just left the last bit of equipment to dry when his phone rang in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow at the unknown caller, and picked up with an uncertain, “Hello?”

“Hi,” an all-too-familiar voice said. “It’s Kija.”

_Hallelujah_!

“Well, you’ve kept my number.” Jae-ha smiled. “That’s a surprise.”

“Is it really?” Kija said. “You know, I was thinking about that dinner you mentioned earlier. Any chance you’d still be interested?”

Jae-ha chuckled. “I’m always interested.”

“Good, because I just got off work.” There was a knock on the window of the café and Jae-ha turned around to the sight of Kija on the other side of the glass. His lips moved as he said, “And I’m here now.”

Out of his work uniform, the man looked about as fine as freshly ground coffee and near-edible in that tight turtleneck and denim, borg-lined jacket. One of these days, Jae-ha hoped he'd be taking it off in the supply room. In the bathrooms. Or perhaps somewhere more sanitary, despite Kye-Sook's best attempts at mopping duty.

Jae-ha unlocked the door to let him in. “Unless you have any preferences about dinner,” he said with mischief in his eyes, “I'd offer to take you up to my place so I can make us something good.”

Kija smiled. “I’d quite like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> In conclusion: Jae-ha is a clown, Kija's biceps can crush watermelons, Yoon is Gordon Ramsay, Kye-Sook mops floors, and I wrote this because I mixed up my sleeping pills with the ones that are meant to keep me alert and hyper for 18 hours
> 
> Regardless, this is a very silly story but I've never tackled any crackpot fics before so it was high time I tried. Whether it worked or not is debatable. Thank you for reading! :)


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